


Evermore

by SosoHolmesWatson



Series: Made of Music [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Beauty and the Beast, Disney Songs, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Kinda, Love Confessions, M/M, Meant To Be, Oblivious John, Parentlock, Pining Sherlock Holmes, Post-Canon, Rosie wants to be a princess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 07:01:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18441446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SosoHolmesWatson/pseuds/SosoHolmesWatson
Summary: For the past years, John and Sherlock have lived at Baker Street again, raising Rosie together--as friends and nothing more. Ever since the little girl has watched her first Disney movie, she is obsessed with princesses. When John comes home one day, he finds his friend and his daughter in the middle of a reenactment of her current favourite.





	Evermore

**Author's Note:**

> This little fic (my first ever one-shot!) was inspired by the song "Evermore" from the Disney movie _Beauty and the Beast (2017)_. Listen to it [here](https://youtu.be/diLa-gpHRKc)

He will tell him today, John decides as he carries the groceries back to their flat. Rosie will start school in a couple of weeks. It’s high time she gets her own room, to invite friends, to do homework, to have a place she doesn’t have to share with her father. Sherlock will surely understand that, won’t he? Yes, John will tell him today that he and Rosie will move out.

Maybe Sherlock already figured it out by himself. He has been a little quieter lately, has even declined some of Lestrade’s—according to Sherlock, absolutely boring—cases to spend more time with Rosie. _Maybe he already knows and is just waiting for my final verdict._

That this arrangement had even worked for the past five years was a miracle, after all; Working on murder cases with a toddler on one’s arm was—a challenge, to say the least. In all those years following John and Rosie’s rather rash return to 221B Baker Street, neither John nor Sherlock have dared to talk about its implications for the future. They have simply enjoyed each other’s company, watched Rosie grow into a brilliant, funny girl, lived in the moment—because both know that those bits of happiness vanish faster than you can blink. You need to hold on to them as long as you can. The future will arrive soon enough and spoil all your plans.

And things have been fine, great really. Sherlock adores Rosie and the little girl, in return, is obsessed with her “ _Sher_ ” that lets her ride on his shoulders and teaches her about bees and stars and disembowelment (if John doesn’t watch him very carefully).

John’s lips hurt a little as he smiles melancholically. Yes, they have had five good years. But even good things have to end sooner or later. Probably, Sherlock will even be glad to finally have his flat back, to experiment in the kitchen again and play the violin at all times of the night.

John just has to get it over with. It won’t be that bad. It’s not like they won’t spend time together anymore. He’ll make sure to find a place as close by as possible so that Sherlock can see Rosie whenever he pleases. He can’t separate them, not after everything Sherlock has done for them.

It has taken John longer than he cares to admit adjusting to his life as a widower, to cope with all the traumas and terror he has lived through. He couldn’t have done it without Sherlock—his help with Rosie, his friendship, his companionship. By now, he is factually Rosie’s second parent. John doesn’t want to break their bond. It would devastate all three of them.

But they can’t keep on living in denial about the lack of space for a rapidly growing child. They have to find a new place, to move on. They can make that work. They always have.

As he unlocks the front door and steps into the familiar hall, John can already hear the music floating down the staircase from their flat. He tries to remember the last time it has been quiet when he came home. Will there still be music in their new flat? Will the songs still sound the same without Sherlock?

John shakes his head determinedly, hoping that his painful thoughts would just fall off. He isn’t prone to sentimentality but having to leave Sherlock for a second time is bound to be an emotional train wreck, at least for him. Who knows what’s going on in that funny head of Sherlock’s? He wouldn't care, now, would he?

Following the soaring melody, John climbs up the stairs, trying to identify the tune. It’s either something from _Frozen_ or _Beauty and the Beast_ , probably.

Rosie is in the middle of her princess phase, ever since she has seen her first Disney movie. For the past weeks and months, she has barely talked about anything else than her favourites—Belle, Elsa, Moana, Cinderella, … She insists on watching the same films over and over again whenever John and Sherlock allow her some telly-time. The rest of her days, she spends reenacting her favourite scenes, soundtrack included. John can (more or less proudly) claim to know the lyrics to _Let It Go_ even in his sleep by now.

At first, John was utterly horrified when his daughter for the first time expressed interest for something as far removed from science as possible, especially fearing that Sherlock might make some snarky comments about romantized and outdated gender roles, but, to John’s surprise and amusement, he has supported Rosie in her royal extravaganza with as much enthusiasm and diligence as he usually displays on a crime scene. He even convinced Mycroft to buy her a yellow gown—“Just like Belle’s! Thank you, Uncle Myc”—for her birthday. John has never seen anything funnier than Mycroft Holmes, the personification of the British Government, bowing to her majesty Rosie the First and graciously accepting her invitation to tea.

As he is half-way up the stairs, the music ebbs away and he hears Rosie’s high, demanding voice: “Now sing your song, Sher!” Her talent for bossing people around would do a real princess honour.

“As you wish, your majesty,” responds Sherlock’s silky baritone. He has never been one for strict parenting, John thinks as another melody begins. He would spoil Rosie rotten if John didn’t interfere, his heart being simply unable to deny her anything.

The lump in his throat grows with every step, the grocery bag weighing him down as if it were filled with lead instead of apples, toast, and beans. He will miss all of this. But what other choice is there really?

In the sitting room, only a few meters away now, Sherlock’s voice begins to sing a song John recognizes from _Beauty and the Beast_ , the live-action version which Rosie has been only allowed to watch a couple of nights ago. She was a little scared of the howling wolves but the Beast won a special place in her heart right away. John must admit that he, too, enjoyed that particular film. Well, they can still have movie nights at their new place.

He mounts the last few steps, stopping on the landing to listen to Sherlock, the words now easily distinguishable:

_“I was the one who had it all,_  
_I was the master of my fate._  
_I never needed anybody in my life._  
_I learned the truth too late.”_

The fervency he lays into the lyrics makes John’s insides tingle. He has heard Sherlock sing to Rosie before but nothing has come close to this level of… honesty? The words drip from his tongue as fresh and true as spring water and make John hold his breath almost devoutly, a clandestine listener to a secret symphony.

With utmost caution as to not disturb them, John opens the door to the sitting room and peaks inside. The scene before his eyes is one to thaw even the coldest of hearts: Rosie, a head full of golden locks and mischief, is standing on the couch, her light blue dress playing around her bare feet as she bounces up and down in excitement. Sherlock’s slender figure is towering over her, the blanket the three of them cuddle under on cold nights draped around his shoulders as a makeshift cape. With melodramatic gestures and skillful vibrato in his honey-like voice, he entertains the little girl:

_“I'll never shake away the pain._  
_I close my eyes but he's still there._  
_I let him steal into my melancholy heart;_  
_It's more than I can bear.”_

John stops short in the doorway. _He? Him?_ That can’t be right. As far as he remembers, the Beast sings this song about Belle. Why would he use male pronouns? Or has he misheard?

He eyes Sherlock carefully but the singing detective doesn’t show any signs of flustering, nor does Rosie correct him. Surely, John has misheard then. When it comes to reciting Disney songs, Rosie is more than unforgiving when someone makes a mistake. Unfortunately, she has picked up Sherlock’s habit to correct everyone on everything, although not with the same air of smugness as her godfather.

_“Now I know he'll never leave me._  
_Even as he runs away._  
_He will still torment me,_  
_Calm me, hurt me,_  
_Move me, come what may.”_

There it is again. _He_! John is sure he has heard it right this time. The syllable rings in his ears, echoes in his chest, lets every sinew in his body vibrate with alarming anticipation. He can’t move. Glued to the spot, he just keeps watching the two most important people in his life, both completely immersed in their little show. Rosie giggles satisfied as Sherlock kneels down in front of the sofa in an overly dramatic fashion, clutching his heart with one hand.

_“Wasting in my lonely tower,_  
_Waiting by an open door,_  
_I'll fool myself, he'll walk right in_  
_And be with me for evermore.”_

The deep note makes goosebumps spread all over John’s body. Deep inside his bones, something is shifting, falling into place, but he can’t quite put his finger on it. Why does this performance move him so much? It is heartwarming to watch, sure, but there’s something more, something significant going on. His breathing speeds up a notch without him being able to do anything about it. His whole body has become oddly rigid, no longer accepting orders from his mind. The bag full of groceries slips from his hand and lands on the floor with a thunk that makes Sherlock, at last, aware of his existence.

For a split second, their eyes meet and the hint of a coy smile tugs at Sherlock’s mouth but it vanishes so quickly that John is not quite sure if he has seen it at all. Rosie wins back his attention at once. Sherlock rises and swoops her off the sofa in one smooth movement, whirling her around in a pirouette that makes her squeal with laughter.

_“I rage against the trials of love._  
_I curse the fading of the light._  
_Though he's already flown so far beyond my reach_  
_he's never out of sight.”_

Rosie wraps her legs and arms around his body like a little spider monkey, Sherlock securing her with strong arms as he keeps spinning them around. He lets his head fall back and sings at full volume as they twirl on the worn-out carpet, his voice saturating the air with its enchanting timbre. Every single word hits John like a wrecking ball.

_“Now I know he'll never leave me,_  
_Even as he fades from view._  
_He will still inspire me,_  
_Be a part of everything I do._  
_Wasting in my lonely tower_  
_Waiting by an open door—”_

Sherlock’s eager eyes fix on John and a hint of sadness and something apologetic flits across his face as he halts in the middle of the sitting room, the few steps between them, the safe distance they had kept all these years, this unsurmountable abyss finally being bridged by a delicate construct of wavering words.

John burns up under his gaze and is yet unable to divert his own eyes from the face of the man he shares his life with. Why would he ever give this up? Why would he ever let anything as mundane as a missing bedroom rip Sherlock from his side again? He can’t leave him, he doesn’t want to, he has never wanted to, since the first day they met. The realization crushes him like an avalanche, breaking bones and convictions like brittle twigs.

_“I'll fool myself, he'll walk right in._  
_And as the long, long nights begin,_  
_I'll think of all that might have been—_ ”

Sherlock knows. How could he not? Sherlock knows how John feels about him. And if the pleading look he gives John and the confession he has woven into the song are any indicators, _he feels the same_. It couldn’t be clearer. John lets out a disbelieving puff of air—half laughter, half sigh. Why has it taken him so long to see it?

“ _Waiting here for evermore_.”

The last note of the song hangs unfinished under the ceiling of their home as John crosses the sitting room with three swift steps, takes Sherlock’s face in his hands, and shuts him up with a long overdue kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> My favourite Disney princess has always been Belle. I was so excited when the live-action version came out, especially because Emma Watson was cast. The song Evermore is one of the very few "added" songs I fell in love with instantly. And I couldn't get this Johnlock scenario out of my head!


End file.
